TWO WEARY WANDERERS
"Poor boy," muttered Watson. "He is done out." He saw that George's
collapse was due to a fainting spell, which in itself was nothing
dangerous. But when he heard the distant baying of the dog, and heard,
too, the voices of men--no doubt some of the armed Southerners from the
pursuing train--he saw the peril that encompassed both himself and the
boy. Here they were almost on top of a hill, near the enemy, and with no
means of escape should they be unfortunate enough to be seen by the
Southerners or tracked by the hound. If George could be gotten at once to
the other side of the hill he would be screened from view--otherwise he
and Watson would soon----But the soldier did not stop to think what might
happen. He jumped quickly to his feet, seized the unconscious George, and
ran with him, as one might have run with some helpless infant, to the top
of the hill, and then down on the other side. Waggie came barking after
them; he seemed to ask why it was that his master had gone to sleep in
this sudden fashion. Watson paused for a few seconds at the bottom of the
hill, and placed his burden on the wet grass. There was as yet no sign of
returning life. Once more came that uncanny bay. The man again took George
in his arms.
"We can't stay here," he said. He himself was ready to drop from the
fatigue and excitement of the day, but hope of escape gave him strength,
and he ran on through an open field until he reached some bottom-land
covered by a few unhealthy-looking pine-trees. Here he paused, panting
almost as hard as the poor vanished "General" had done in the last stages
of its journey. He next deposited his charge on the sodden earth. They
were both still in imminent danger of pursuit, but for the time being they
were screened from view.
Watson bent tenderly over the boy, whilst Waggie pulled at his sleeve as
he had been accustomed to do far away at home when he wanted to wake up
his master. George finally opened his eyes and looked around him, first
dreamily, then with a startled air.
"It's all right, my lad," whispered Watson cheerily. "You only fainted
away, just for variety, but now you are chipper enough again."
George stretched his arms, raised himself to a sitting posture, and then
sank back wearily on the ground.
"I'm so tired," he said. "Can't I go to sleep?" He was utterly weary; he
cared not if a whole army of men and dogs was after him; his one idea was
rest--rest.
"This won't do," said Watson firmly. "We can't stay here." He produced
from his pocket a little flask, poured some of the contents down the boy's
throat, and then took a liberal drink himself. George began to revive, as
he asked how he had been brought to his present resting-place.
"In my arms," exclaimed Watson. "But I can't keep that sort of thing up
forever. We must get away from here. Every moment is precious."
As if to emphasize the truth of this warning, the baying of the dog and
the cries of men began to sound nearer. Watson sprang to his feet. The
increase of the danger gave him new nerve; he no longer looked the tired,
haggard man of five minutes ago.
"We can't stay here," he said, calmly but impressively; "it would be
certain capture!"
George was up in an instant. The draught from the flask had invested him
with new vigor.
"Where shall we go?" he asked. "I'm all right again."
"To the river," answered Watson. He pointed eagerly to the right of the
pines, where they could see, in the darkening light of the afternoon, a
swollen stream rushing madly past. It might originally have been a small
river, but now, owing to the spring rains and freshets, it looked
turbulent and dangerous. It was difficult to cross, yet for that very
reason it would make a barrier between pursued and pursuers. Should the
former try the experiment?
"Can you swim?" asked Watson.
"Yes."
"Then we'll risk it. After all, the water's safer for us than the land."
Out through the pines they ran until they were at the water's edge. The
sight was not encouraging. The river foamed like an angry ocean, and a
strong current was sweeping down to the northward.
The soldier looked at the boy in kindly anxiety. "The water is a little
treacherous, George," he said. "Do you think you're strong enough to
venture across?"
"Of course I am!" answered George, proudly. He felt more like himself now;
he even betrayed a mild indignation at the doubts of his friend.
"Well," began Watson, "we had--but listen! By Jove, those rascals have
discovered us! They're making this way!"
It was true; the barking of the dog and the sound of many voices came
nearer and nearer. Waggie began to growl fiercely, quite as if he were
large enough to try a bout with a whole Confederate regiment.
"Take off your shoes, George," cried Watson. "Your coat and vest, too."
Both the fugitives divested themselves of boots, coats and vests; their
hats they had already lost in their flight from "The General." In their
trousers pockets they stuffed their watches and some Confederate money.
A sudden thought crossed George's mind. It was a painful thought.
"What's to become of Waggie?" he asked. "I can't leave him here." He would
as soon have left a dear relative stranded on the bank of the river.
"I'm afraid you'll have to leave him," said Watson.
"I can't," replied George. There was a second's pause--but it seemed like
the suspense of an hour. Then the lad had a lucky inspiration. He leaned
down and drew from a side pocket of his discarded coat a roll of strong
cord which had been used when he climbed the telegraph poles. Pulling a
knife from a pocket in his trousers he cut a piece of the cord about two
yards in length, tied one end around his waist and attached the other end
to Waggie's collar. The next instant he had plunged into the icy water,
dragging the dog in after him. Watson followed, and struck out into the
torrent with the vigor of an athlete.
George found at once that his work meant something more than keeping
himself afloat. The current was rapid, and it required all his power to
keep from being carried down the river like a helpless log. Waggie was
sputtering and pawing the water in his master's wake.
"Keep going," shouted Watson. "This current's no joke!" Even he was having
no child's play.
Just then George had his mouth full of water; he could only go on battling
manfully. But he began to feel a great weakness. Was he about to faint
again? He dared not think of it. There was a loosening of the cord around
his waist. He looked to his left and there was Waggie floating down the
stream like a tiny piece of wood. His head had slipped from his collar.
Watson tried to grab the dog as he floated by, but it was too late. He
might as well have tried to change the tide.
"Go on, George, go on!" he urged, breathlessly. The boy struggled onward,
but he had already overtaxed his strength. He became dizzy; his arms and
legs refused to work.
"What's the matter?" sputtered his companion, who was now alongside of
him.
"Go on; don't mind me," said George, in a choking voice.
"Put your hand on my belt," sternly commanded Watson. The young swimmer
obeyed, scarcely knowing what he did. Watson kept on like a giant fish,
sometimes in danger of being swept away, and sometimes drawing a few feet
nearer to the opposite bank.
* * * * *
The next thing that George knew was when he found himself lying on the
river's edge. Watson was peering at him anxiously.
"That's right; open your eyes," he said. "We had a narrow escape, but
we're over the river at last. I just got you over in time, for when we
neared shore you let go of me, and I had to pull you in by the hair of
your head."
"How can I ever thank you," said George, feebly but gratefully.
"By not trying," answered Watson. "Come, there's not a second to lose.
Don't you hear our enemies?"
There was no doubt as to the answer to that question. Across the river
sounded the baying and the harsh human voices. Almost before George
realized what had happened Watson had pulled him a dozen yards away to a
spot behind a large boulder.
"Keep on your back!" he ordered. "The men are on the other bank."
None too soon had he executed this manoeuvre. He and George could hear,
above the noise of the rushing stream, the tones of their pursuers. They
had just reached the river, and must be searching for the two Northerners.
More than once the hound gave a loud whine, as if he were baffled or
disappointed.
"They can't be here," came a voice from across the river. "We had better
go back; they may be down the railroad track."
"Perhaps they swam across the stream," urged some one else.
"That would be certain death!" answered the first voice.
There was a whining from the dog, as if he had discovered a scent. Then a
simultaneous cry from several sturdy lungs. "Look at these coats and
boots!" "They did try to cross, after all." "Well, they never got over in
this current!" "They must have been carried down the Chickamauga and been
drowned!" Such were the exclamations which were wafted to the ears of the
two fugitives behind the rock.
[Illustration: None too Soon Had He Executed this Manoeuvre]
"The Chickamauga," said Watson, under his breath. "So that's the name of
the river, eh?"
There was evidently some heated discussion going on among the unseen
pursuers. At length one of them cried: "Well, comrades, as there's not one
of us who wants to swim over the river in its present state, and as the
fools may even be drowned by this time, I move we go home. The whole
countryside will be on the lookout for the rest of the engine thieves by
to-morrow--and they won't escape us before then."
"Nonsense," interrupted a voice, "don't you know night's just the time
which they will take for escape?"
"Are you ready, then, to swim across the Chickamauga?"
"No."
"Then go home, and don't talk nonsense! To-morrow, when the river is less
angry, we will be up by dawn--and then for a good hunt!"
Apparently the advice of the last speaker was considered wise, for the men
left the river bank. At last their voices could be no longer heard in the
distance. The shades of twilight began to fall, and the rain ceased. Then
Watson and his companion crawled cautiously from behind the boulder. They
were two as dilapidated creatures as ever drew breath under a southern
sky. With soaking shirts and trousers, and without coats, vests, or shoes,
they looked the picture of destitution. And their feelings! They were
hungry, dispirited, exhausted. All the pleasure seemed to have gone out of
life.
"We can't stay in this charming spot all night," said Watson,
sarcastically.
"I suppose a rock is as good as anything else we can find," answered the
boy gloomily. "Poor Waggie! Why did I try to drag him across the river?"
"Poor little midget," said Watson. "I'll never forget the appealing look
in his eyes as he went sailing past me."
"Do you hear that?" cried George.
"Hear what? Some one after us again?"
"No; it's a dog barking!"
"Why, it sounds like Waggie, but it can't be he. He's gone to another
world."
"No, he hasn't," answered George. He forgot his weakness, and started to
run down the bank, in the direction whence the sound proceeded. Watson
remained behind; he could not believe that it was the dog.
In the course of several minutes George came running back. He was holding
in his hands a little animal that resembled a drowned rat. It was
Waggie--very wet, very bedraggled, but still alive.
"Well, if that isn't a miracle!" cried Watson. He stroked the dripping
back of the rescued dog, whereupon Waggie looked up at him with a grateful
gleam in his eyes.
"I found him just below here, lying on a bit of rock out in the water a
few feet away from the bank," enthusiastically explained George. "He must
have been hurled there, by the current."
Watson laughed.
"Well, Waggie," he said, "we make three wet looking tramps, don't we? And
I guess you are just as hungry as the rest."
Waggie wagged his tail with great violence.
"Think of a warm, comfortable bed," observed the boy, with a sort of grim
humor; "and a nice supper beforehand of meat--and eggs----"
"And hot coffee--and biscuits--and a pipe of tobacco for me, after the
supper," went on Watson. He turned from the river and peered into the
rapidly increasing gloom. About a mile inland, almost directly in front of
him, there shone a cheerful light.
George, who also saw the gleam, rubbed his hands across his empty stomach,
in a comical fashion.
"There must be supper there," he said, pointing to the house.
"But we don't dare eat it," replied his friend. "The people within fifty
miles of here will be on the lookout for any of Andrews' party--and the
mere appearance of us will be enough to arouse suspicion--and yet----"
Watson hesitated; he was in a quandary. He was not a bit frightened, but
he felt that the chances of escape for George and himself were at the
ratio of one to a thousand. He knew actually nothing of the geography of
the surrounding country, and he felt that as soon as morning arrived the
neighborhood would be searched far and wide. Had he been alone he might
have tried to walk throughout the night until he had placed fifteen or
twenty miles between himself and his pursuers. But when he thought of
George's condition he realized that it would be a physical impossibility
to drag the tired lad very far.
Finally Watson started away towards the distant light.
"Stay here till I get back," he said to George; "I'm going to explore."
In less than an hour he had returned to the river's bank.
"We're in luck," he said joyously. "I stole across to where that light is,
and found it came from a little stone house. I crept into the garden on my
hands and knees--there was no dog there, thank heaven--and managed to get
a glimpse into the parlor through a half-closed blind. There sat a
sweet-faced, white-haired old gentleman, evidently a minister of the
gospel, reading a chapter from the scriptures to an elderly lady and two
girls--his wife and children I suppose. He can't have heard anything about
our business yet--for I heard him ask one of the girls, after he stopped
reading, what all the blowing of locomotive whistles meant this
afternoon--and she didn't know. So we can drop in on them to-night, ask
for supper and a bed, and be off at daybreak to-morrow before the old
fellow has gotten wind of anything."
Soon they were off, Watson, George and Waggie, and covered the fields
leading to the house in unusually quick time for such tired wanderers.
When they reached the gate of the little garden in front of the place
George asked: "What story are we to tell?"
"The usual yarn, I suppose," answered Watson. "Fleming County,
Kentucky--anxious to join the Confederate forces--_et cetera_. Bah! I
loathe all this subterfuge and deceit. I wish I were back fighting the
enemy in the open day!"
They walked boldly up to the door of the house and knocked. The old
gentleman whom Watson had seen soon stood before them. The lamp which he
held above him shone upon a face full of benignity and peacefulness. His
features were handsome; his eyes twinkled genially, as if he loved all his
fellow-men.
Watson told his Kentucky story, and asked food and lodgings for George and
himself until the early morning.
"Come in," said the old man, simply but cordially, "any friend of the
South is a friend of mine."
The minister (for he proved to be a country preacher who rode from church
to church "on circuit"), ushered the two Northerners and the dog into his
cozy sitting-room and introduced them to his wife and two daughters. The
wife seemed as kindly as her husband; the daughters were pretty girls just
growing into womanhood.
"Here, children," said the old man, "get these poor fellows some supper.
They're on a journey to Atlanta, all the way from Kentucky, to enlist. And
I'll see if I can't rake you up a couple of coats and some old shoes."
He disappeared up-stairs, and soon returned with two half-worn coats and
two pairs of old shoes, which he insisted upon presenting to the
fugitives.
"They belong to my son, who has gone to the war," he said, "but he'd be
glad to have such patriots as you use them. How did you both get so bare
of clothes?"
"We had to swim across a stream, and leave some of our things behind,"
explained Watson. He spoke but the simple truth. He was glad that he did,
for he hated to deceive a man who stood gazing upon him with such gentle,
unsuspecting eyes.
It was not long before Watson and George had gone into the kitchen, where
they found a table laden with a profusion of plain but welcome food.
Waggie, who had been given some milk, was lying fast asleep by the
hearth.
George looked about him, when he had finished his supper, and asked
himself why he could not have a week of such quiet, peaceful life as this?
Yet he knew that he was, figuratively, on the brink of a precipice. At any
moment he might be shown in his true light. But how much better he felt
since he had eaten. He was comfortable and drowsy. The minister and his
family, who had been bustling around attending to the wants of their
guests, began to grow dim in his weary eyes. Watson, who was sitting
opposite to him, looked blurred, indistinct. He was vaguely conscious that
the old gentleman was saying: "These are times that try our souls." Then
the boy sank back in his chair, sound asleep. He began to dream. He was on
the cowcatcher of an engine. Andrews was tearing along in front on a
horse, beckoning to him to come on. The engine sped on faster and faster,
but it could not catch up to the horseman. At last Andrews and the horse
faded away altogether; and the boy was swimming across the Chickamauga
River. He heard a great shout from the opposite bank--and awoke.
Watson had risen from the table; the pipe of tobacco which the minister
had given him as a sort of dessert was lying broken on the hearth. There
was a despairing look on his face. It was the look that one might expect
to see in a hunted animal at bay. Near him stood the old man, who seemed
to be the incarnation of mournful perplexity, his wife, who was no less
disturbed, and the two daughters. One of the latter, a girl with dark hair
and snapping black eyes, was regarding Watson with an expression of anger.
On the table was an opened letter.
"I am in your power," Watson was saying to the minister.
What had been happening during the half hour which George had devoted to a
nap?
"Poor, dear boy, he's dropped off to sleep," murmured the minister's wife,
when she saw George sink back in his chair. She went into the sitting-room
and returned with a cushion which she proceeded to place under his head.
"He is much too young to go to the war," she said, turning towards
Watson.
"There was no keeping him from going South," answered his companion. "He
would go." Which was quite true.
The minister handed a pipe filled with Virginia tobacco to Watson, and
lighted one for himself.
"It's my only vice," he laughed pleasantly.
"I can well believe you," rejoined the Northerner, as he gratefully
glanced at the spiritual countenance of his host. "Why should this old
gentleman and I be enemies?" he thought. "I wish the war was over, and
that North and South were once more firm friends." He proceeded to light
his pipe.
They began to talk agreeably, and the minister told several quaint stories
of plantation life, while they smoked on, and the women cleared off the
food from the table.
At last there came a knocking at the front door. The host left the
kitchen, went into the hallway, and opened the door. He had a brief parley
with some one; then the door closed, and he reentered the room. Watson
thought he could distinguish the sound of a horse's hoofs as an unseen
person rode away.
"Who's coming to see you this kind of night?" asked the wife. It was a
natural question. It had once more begun to rain; there were flashes of
lightning and occasional rumbles of thunder.
"A note of some kind from Farmer Jason," explained the clergyman. "I hope
his daughter is not sick again."
"Perhaps the horse has the colic," suggested one of the girls, who had
gentle blue eyes like her father's, "and he wants some of your 'Equine
Pills.'"
"Who brought the letter?" enquired the wife.
"Jason's hired man--he said he hadn't time to wait--had to be off with
another letter to Farmer Lovejoy--said this letter would explain
everything."
"Then why don't you open it, pa, instead of standing there looking at the
outside; you act as if you were afraid of it," spoke up the dark-eyed
girl, who was evidently a damsel of some spirit.
"Here, you may read it yourself, Cynthia," said her father, quite meekly,
as if he had committed some grave offense. He handed the envelope to the
dark-eyed girl. She tore it open, and glanced over the single sheet of
paper inside. Then she gave a sharp cry of surprise, and darted a quick,
penetrating glance at Watson. He felt uneasy, although he could not
explain why he did.
"What's the matter?" asked the minister. "Anything wrong at the Jasons'?"
"Anything wrong at the Jasons'," Miss Cynthia repeated, contemptuously.
"No; there's something wrong, but it isn't over at Jasons'. Listen to
this!" She held out the paper at arm's length, as if she feared it, and
read these lines:
"Pastor Buckley,
"Dear Sir:
"This is to notify you as how I just have had news that a party of
Yankee spies is at large, right in our neighborhood. They stole a
train to-day at Big Shanty, but they were obleeged to jump off only a
few miles from here. So you must keep on the lookout--they are
around--leastwise a boy and grown man have been seen, although most
of the others seem to have gotten away. One of my sons--Esau--caught
sight of this man and boy on the edge of the river late this
afternoon. He says the boy had a dog.
"Yours,
"Charles Jason."
After Miss Cynthia finished the reading of this letter there was a silence
in the room almost tragic in its intensity. Watson sprang to his feet, as
he threw his pipe on the hearth. Waggie woke up with a whine. The Reverend
Mr. Buckley looked at Watson, and then at the sleeping boy in a dazed
way--not angrily, but simply like one who is grievously disappointed. So,
too, did Mrs. Buckley and her blue-eyed daughter.
Finally Miss Cynthia broke the silence.
"So you are Northern spies, are you?" she hissed. "And you come here
telling us a story about your being so fond of the South that you must
travel all the way from Kentucky to fight for her." She threw the letter
on the supper-table, while her eyes flashed.
Watson saw that the time of concealment had passed. His identity was
apparent; he was in the very centre of the enemy's country; his life hung
in the balance. He could not even defend himself save by his hands, for
the pistol which he carried in his hip-pocket had been rendered
temporarily useless by his passage across the river. Even if he had
possessed a whole brace of pistols, he would not have harmed one hair of
this kindly minister's head.
"I _am_ a Northerner," said Watson, "and I _am_ one of the men who stole a
train at Big Shanty this morning. We got within a few miles of
Chattanooga, and then had to abandon our engine, because we were trapped.
We tried to burn bridges, but we failed. We did no more than any
Southerners would have done in the North under the same circumstances."
It was at this point that George awoke. He saw at once that something was
wrong but he prudently held his tongue, and listened.
"You are a spy," reiterated Miss Cynthia, "and you know what the
punishment for that must be--North or South!"
"Of course I know the punishment," said Watson, with deliberation. "A
scaffold--and a piece of rope."
The minister shuddered. "They wouldn't hang the boy, would they?" asked
his wife anxiously.
Mr. Buckley was about to answer, when Miss Cynthia suddenly cried,
"Listen!"
Her sharp ears had detected some noise outside the house. She left the
room, ran to the front door, and was back again in a minute.
"Some of the neighbors are out with dogs and lanterns, looking, I'm sure,
for the spies," she announced excitedly, "and they are coming up the
lane!"
The first impulse of Watson was to seize George, and run from the house.
But he realized, the next instant, how useless this would be; he could
even picture the boy being shot down by an overwhelming force of
pursuers.
"They are coming this way," said Mr. Buckley, almost mournfully, as the
sound of voices could now be plainly heard from the cozy kitchen.
"We are in your hands," said Watson, calmly. He turned to the minister.
"You are fighting against my country, which I love more dearly than life
itself," answered Mr. Buckley. "I can have no sympathy for you!" His face
was very white; there was a troubled look in his kindly eyes.
"But they will be hung, father!" cried the blue-eyed daughter.
"I'm ashamed of you, Rachel," said Miss Cynthia. Mrs. Buckley said
nothing. She seemed to be struggling with a hundred conflicting emotions.
Waggie ran to her, as if he considered her a friend, and put his forepaws
on her dress.
"Are you going to give us up?" asked Watson.
"I am a loyal Southerner," returned the minister, very slowly, "and I know
what my duty is. Why should I shield you?"
Watson turned to George.
"It was bound to come," he said. "It might as well be to-night as
to-morrow, or the next day." The pursuers were almost at the door.
"All right," said George, pluckily.
"Father," said Miss Cynthia, "the men are at the door! Shall I let them
in?"
Mrs. Buckley turned away her head, for there were tears in her eyes.